Page 267 of Chameleon Killer

“You don't recognize it?”

“No?” Something about my answer disappointed him. I slid off the bumper as I stood. My knees almost folded.

This time Brewster caught me by the arm. I allowed it for two seconds while I regained my balance before pulling out of his hold. “Whatever you gave me sucks.”

“I didn't give you anything.”

I touched the blood at my temple. His gaze followed the movement. “What is this?”

“You fell.”

I stared at him. “You expect me to believe that?” Was he serious? “Did I walk into a door too?”

“You fought me.”

I frowned. “I don't remember fighting you.” I didn’t see any marks on him. Pity.

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

I just stared at him.

He huffed out an impatient breath. “You struck your head against the workstation. Happy?”

“Thrilled.” I searched his face. No obvious lie. But then, I wouldn’t have pegged him as a psychotic who would kidnap me and throw me in a trunk. “Where’s Flint?”

His whole demeanor changed and his eyes went from flashfire to frosty. Actual fear pooled at the base of my spine.

“Elliot.”

“He's alive.”

Every thought stopped. The world narrowed until only those two words remained. “He's alive?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to him?”

Brewster just stared at me. Brewster. Not Agent Brewster. Not Elliot. His stare was empty and unnerving. “He was shot.”

“Where?” It came out a little higher pitched as I forced myself to breathe to say it.

“He was alive when I left.” He shrugged.

“Where was he shot?” I wanted to hit him. But he still had that gun pointed at me.

“Mallory—”

“Where?” I gritted the word between my teeth.

“Shoulder.”

My knees weakened again. This time I hated myself for it. “How bad?”

“I don't know.” Another shrug and he swept a look over the area.

“Who shot him?”

Brewster didn't answer. I stared at him.